Red
by Gloryscream
Summary: Rated for slash, self-mutilation and suicide. Cho gets very upset when Draco leaves her, and even more upset when he wears red. I like this, so please R


Title: Red

Author: Knife thrower

Rating: PG, for angst and slash references

Summary: An ex-lover of Draco's muses one day as she sees him and Harry… rated for mild slash and the character falling deeper and deeper into depression.

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I saw you today. The first thing I noticed was that you were wearing red. Red. You told me you hated red; that was one of the many lies you told me, apparently. You didn't love me enough to smile at me but you love him enough to don the color of his House- even though it is your rival house. Why couldn't you love me? I guess when you saw me that day, broken-hearted, you wanted nothing more than to run. But I didn't let you. I needed to be comforted, and though you normally would have been my last choice, you were the only person there.

So I made you stay. You made it obvious you wanted to leave. And then, maybe because my heart was torn into a million ragged shreds, or maybe because you wanted to take advantage, or maybe even because you wanted to assure me of your sexuality(another lie), we were soon kissing. And it didn't stop; we then started dating. You suffered the teasing, just for me.

Or maybe it _wasn't_ for me. Maybe it was to attract his attention. We all knew that he was gay. Ron had deserted him when he found out, and had forced Hermione away from him. Probably because he knew she loved him, and wanted her to suffer. Maybe he thought that would make her love him. It didn't work; she ended up dating Seamus.

But you wore _red_ for him! You told me you hated red! Yes, that is what you told me. But you lied. All of what you said was lies. But I'll prove to _you that I'm smarter than I look. Oh, yes, I **will get my revenge, and you better watch out. Because you're wearing red. Maybe that symbolizes the love you share with him that we never had. Maybe you just lied to me about hating red. But does it matter? I still love you. I think.**_

I look at my trembling hands now, and wonder what I'll do. I look at my trembling hands now, and can only think of you. You're wearing red, going against what you said. I want revenge, I want payback, my heart is black. Ramblings of a heart-broken girl in a lonely heart-broken world.

All I can think of is how much I hate him now for taking your heart. I thought your heart was mine. I thought that the day I had handed you my heart with my body that you had given me yours. Oh, how wrong I was. You took my heart, yes, but you ripped it out mercilessly, tearing it to shreds and throwing it onto the ground, stomping scornfully on it, grinding the mangled shreds into the floor where I first gave you my heart, my soul, my body.

Maybe I'm feeling a tad too dramatic, but you're wearing _red. And it's not for me like I always longed it would be. No, my dear lover, it is for a detestable little boy. Red. For __him. Maybe that's why I started cutting myself. Nothing serious, at first. It all started when you first left me. A small scratch on my shoulder. It didn't even bleed the first time! But then, I became addicted._

The pain was like a drug. The physical pain eased the aching of my tormented soul. For the first weeks, the cuttings were mere scratches that didn't break the skin. Whenever I was alone, I would scratch myself with my long, perfectly manicured nails. But when I found out you were with _him, I seriously cut myself for the first time. I turned my wand into a knife with a spell and then I just… slashed my leg. The blood oozed out, slowly at first, staining my sheets, but I didn't care. I sat there for almost ten minutes, letting the pain absorb me. Then I crawled into the bathroom and cleaned the cut. I was dizzy for a few days because of the lack of blood, but that was nothing compared to what was next._

Just as I had been addicted to my fingernail-scratching, I soon became addicted to the knife. I crept into the kitchens one night and took two blades of my own; a regular knife like the one I had turned my wand into and a butcher knife, in case I ever needed to go out with a bang. The house-elves didn't notice, they can't count. I started carrying it around in my bag, an, during breaks, I would duck into abandoned or empty classrooms and perform my self-mutilating rituals. Since I was skipping most meals, I became increasingly thinner. I think people didn't notice because it happened so suddenly; I was a normal person, then I became a shadow of a person, a flitting, thin, sorrowful creature that lacked a name.

My friends had abandoned me when we began seeing each other. I was a forgotten girl, slimming down to nothing. The only thing I had to show for my heartbreak was the scars. Oh, yes, the scars. Pink slashes on my arms and shoulders, my thighs and legs. I carved a snake into one shoulder and your name into the inside of my right thigh. I also carved a cross onto my cheek to protect me. Nobody noticed. I was silent; I never spoke. I was deaf; I heard not the mindless chatter of my peers. I was unfeeling; my self-mutilation had erased all senses of feel and pain. I was blind; I couldn't see the light at the end of the dark tunnel. And I could not smell the life around me, only the eternally-there, ever-growing stench of blood that surrounded me.

So, that day, that day when I saw you wearing red, I wanted out. That lunch, I crept to the Ravenclaw common room, and then to my dormitory. I stripped down into a once-white bathrobe. It had random red splotches on it from my blood. I walked into the white, pristinely clean bathroom and turned on the scalding hot water for the bat. Shakily, I opened a drawer, and in it was the butcher knife. I rested it on one edge of the bathtub, then turned the cold water on so it was a perfect temperature. I slid uncertainly into the bathtub, still wearing the robe. I removed the soaking robe, and let it sink to the bottom. My pale, bony fingers grasped the knife's handle. With little hesitation, I cut deep into my wrists, feeling the horrible pain that I loved dearly. Within minutes, the knife- stained red- slid from my weakening fingers to the white tile floor, clattering loudly in the silence. The water had long since been dyed red, and since I hadn't turned the faucets off, was overflowing onto the tile. I was dyeing the tile the same color that- when worn by you- had led me to this desperate measure.

It would be hours before they found me. And so I lay there in the warm water, slowly dyeing the room that color that you told me you hated.

It was the color red that had caused this whole mess.

It was the color red that had forced me to take my life.

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Well, I like it. In case you're wondering, the male couple is Harry and Draco. The narrator I had in mind was Cho, though it could be any Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw you want. Not a Slytherin, because Draco wouldn't be teased for dating one, and not a Gryffindor, because it doesn't make sense. She's too upset that he's wearing red- a Gryffindor wouldn't be that upset. There may be two more chapters if I get a positive response to this one.

Please review!

-Knife thrower


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